“What do you want me to say? That I meant everything I said to you last night except for the last thing?”
“No,” she snaps. “I don’t want you to say that.”
“Fine. How’s this then? Last night was one of the greatest nights of my life. I know it shouldn’t have been. I know it’s all a lie. I know it’s a mess and we’re a mess, and it’s only going to get worse from here. I know all of that. I also say stupid shit, and I fuck up. A lot. But marrying you wasn’t one of my fuck-ups. I’ll be the husband you need me to be, and I’ll keep my distance if that’s what you tell me you need with it.”
“That’s the deal we made,” she whispers, staring down ather hands the way she always does when she’s nervous or unsure. “It’s the only way we’ll get through this unscathed.”
Wow. This sucks. “It is. So, I’ll stand by that. It’s probably for the best anyway.” I head toward the door only to stop. I have to say it. I shouldn’t. It falls under the category ofI say stupid shit, but I have to say it anyway. I open my mouth, the words hanging from my tongue, but what good will setting them free do?
She doesn’t want to know that I don’t think there’s any way I’ll get through this unscathed now that I’ve made her my wife.
So, I shut the door and let her rest. Wondering if I’ll ever get to a point in my life where not everything hurts.
22
SKYLAR
Iwake to the unfamiliar feel of Aston’s sheets against my skin. Silky cotton that smells of cedar and something distinctly him. The room is dim, the curtains drawn, and I flop on my back, thinking of how I ended up here. The morning sickness. Him coming into the bathroom to help me. His unexpected gentleness as he carried me up here, and then his subsequent apology for last night.
My fists rub at my eyes, bleary and disoriented. I have no clue what time it is, but I feel better. Well, physically at least. My head is still a disaster, but I think that’s going to be my baseline for the next… well, likely years. I snort out a choked laugh.
Christ.
I roll over in bed and bury my face in his pillow. It feels weird to be in his sheets where he slept. And unfortunately, it’s kind of hot too. I’m not sure if this makes me a creeper or not, but I take a deep inhale, and immediately flashes from last night flicker through my head. His apology this morning shouldn’t make it better, but like almost everything with him, somehow it does. The moment I start to hate him again, he takes a bat and bashes my animosity away.
I need to take that apology for what it was and nothing more. He doesn’t regret marrying me, and he doesn’t regret what we did last night. Great. All good. I’ll accept his olive branch in whatever this thing is between us and ignore the something electric and dangerous that hums through my body when I think beyond that.
Eight weeks ago, I was a nurse with a crappy boyfriend. Now I’m pregnant, living and working with Aston, and married to him.
I roll over to find my phone resting on the nightstand. I didn’t hear Aston bring it in for me. It’s after noon. I hope they didn’t go to the movies without me. I’d feel terrible since I promised Zoey.
Slowly I pull myself up and out of bed, my limbs tight as I give a stretch, my toes curling against the area rug over the hardwood floors. I stuff my phone in my pocket and open the door, immediately hearing sound downstairs.
“When are we going?” Zoey whines.
“In two hours, Zo-Zo. Be patient. And please keep your voice down, or you’ll wake Skylar.”
“But why is she sleeping? It’s lunchtime.”
“She wasn’t feeling well this morning, remember?”
A smile quirks my lips, and I pad down the stairs only to practically bump into Aston, who’s coming up them. His eyes widen, and he moves one step down, creating some space between us.
“You’re up,” he says, his voice even. He’s wearing a faded Boston Rebels T-shirt, gray sweatpants, and a backward hat, leaving some of the longer pieces of his light hair sticking out the back beneath the brim. Holy shit. I think I just came again. “Feeling better?”
“Much,” I answer, crossing my arms over my chest because I took off my bra before I fell asleep in his bed, and my nipples are definitely saluting him. Come to think of it, mybra is likely still on his floor. “Thanks for lending me your bed.”
“It’s your bed now, remember? Speaking of, did you want to do that now? Switch rooms?”
“Oh. Um. Sure,” I chirp brightly, and wow, is this tense.
“Great. I’ll help you move your stuff. I don’t want you lifting anything heavy.”
“Let’s do it.” I mentally smack my forehead. Did I just say that?
He follows me into my bedroom and grabs my two already packed suitcases and drags them down to his room. Or I guess it’s my room now. That’ll take some adjustment.
For the next hour, the two of us go back and forth, dancing awkwardly around each other as we move our stuff from one room to the other. Every time we pass each other in the hall, I’m hyperaware of the space between us and how careful we are to avoid even so much as a glancing touch.
